


Mutually Assured... (what was the word?)

by orphan_account



Category: Don't Hug Me I'm Scared (Short Film)
Genre: Drabble, F/M, One-Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-28
Updated: 2014-01-28
Packaged: 2018-01-10 09:33:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1158051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>"They can't touch."</em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mutually Assured... (what was the word?)

They can't touch.

It's an unspoken rule, one established from the moment that they met - a brush of fingers that ended badly for them. A lonely moment of contact, in which paper began to yellow and grow brittle with age. The clock's order began to be disrupted by the chaotic and creative madness that flows from her, stuttering over each tick as his heart skipped a beat. Each snatched away their hand from the other. The world returned to normal.

Nothing is as tempting as the forbidden, though, and each finds themself sneaking quick flashes of touch against the other's skin.  Every time, it feels like dying - or at least, what they assume death to be (After all, how can they know until they've tried it?).

It's glorious. Addictive. 

There's no drug sweeter to the ageless than the corruptive tint of decay, and each time they grow bolder - a flutter of fingertips becomes a thumb tracing along a dainty jawline for a second (one second exactly, then he sweeps past her with a smile gleaming golden and not a word). The barest hint of a touch becomes the scrape of fingernails on skin, leaving indigo marks that slowly fade into blue and a smudged trail of ink.

 Pain and tenderness and dizzying destruction, every time they meet; time and creation courting death and one another as the ages pass.

Until, by the last of it, there's a single man counting the hours until he dies. Everything the two of  them are is fading away - what's time without people to govern or creativity without those who do the actual creating?

They've nothing to lose and everything to gain, and so as the last human being gives up the ghost two (both inhuman as can be) embrace. A grasping and clawing struggle at first, which turns into the most gentle of kisses. Paper crackles and ages, gears grind and fail as the two of them fall into one another's touch. 

All that is left behind is dust on the wind, and a limp form in deepest blue. The ticking slows to a halt. Desperate oblivion consumes them whole, and all is silence.


End file.
